


Wind of Change

by Bluebutterflydays



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Politics, Romance, change, diversity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebutterflydays/pseuds/Bluebutterflydays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As things have settled into a wonderful new order, a peaceful evening for Bog and Marianne is ended as an offhand remark leads to an argument. Though they work past it, they find that it has suddenly opened their minds to a great deal of issues long overlooked in each of their Kingdoms. As different as their worlds are, neither is perfect. If they can't pull their own lands together, how will they ever be fit to merge the two? And if they can't, can they afford to choose between the two when home is a word with an evolving meaning?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I probably should have done some fluff for my first SM work, but... well, here we are. I understand much of this is headcanon and I will warn you about that right now. I have some concerns with the fairy society that were nagging me, so I decided to write about it. And then I was like, know what, let's make the Goblin culture a tad more feral as well.  
> Well, anyways, enjoy...

Different was good. Different was their thing. Their entire relationship was prefaced by the idea and it always remained in their heads with a certain sense of appreciative awe. Marianne was lost to those differences the moment they made her and Bog the same.

One strong unit weaved with diversity and love and acceptance. She felt nothing could shake her unconditional adoration for him...

 

"After the old king's body was tossed out, I still had to assert myself to the subjects. I suppose that would have gone much easier if I had just let them eat the old fool instead of throwing him in the river..."

"I'm sorry, what?" Marianne stiffened as her lover's recounting of his coronation suddenly and unexpectedly took a dark turn that was nary reflected on his oddly nostalgic face.

"Where did I lose you?" He met her eyes across from him at the dinner table, inquisitive and innocent.

"The part where you threw your father in the river?" The end of the sentence came out much louder than she had intended. She watched Bog blink at her twice and then raise a brow.

"He was not my father." An incredulous statement.

"What? Then how did you..." She trailed off. They seemed to both sense it simultaneously, the upcoming shock of fundamental difference between the societies in which they were brought up. A crack in their normal.

Bog shifted in his seat and pushed his dinner plate away, clearly nervous and preparing himself for what he was about to say.

"I killed him in order to usurp the throne."

"You..." Her eyes went wide and she leaned her elbows on the table for support, "I mean... That's..."

"Different," it was a quiet conclusion, wary yet reverent, "yeah."

"I just..." she shook her head, seeing a smidgen of hurt creeping into Bog's eyes, "It just caught me off guard."

It did not relieve the dark thoughts written across his leafy brow. His shoulders slouched ever so slightly. He had realized once more that to the fairy kingdom, the dark forest population looked like savage beasts with savage customs.

"This is how it has always been done," He explained, defensive tones seeping into each syllable.

"And you agree with it?" She could not stop herself from asking. 

He faltered, but then suddenly stood, turning away from her, "It is how it is."

"So then you wouldn't change it?" She stood as well, her wings a fluttering reflection of her heart as his twitched together.

"How could I?"

"You're king!" She guffawed.

He looked over his shoulder with cold eyes, "Only until somebody takes that title from me."

The implications hit her in an icy wave over her body. If a goblin had the mind to be in charge, they would gladly try and kill Bog to obtain their goal.

And then it crept into her mind like the shadows of an ever imposing twilight: if she were by his side, would they try to kill her as well?  
It was a selfish thought, she knew, but it was there.

"Do you have no control over your people?" It was an honest question, but she sensed the mistake the moment she asked. His feet shifted and he stood to his full imposing height before turning to face her again, pulling his staff to him from where it had leaned against the table. His guard was coming back up.

"FEAR is my control," He punctuated his words with a tap of the staff.

Marianne watched as his wings flicked in agitation and found herself unable to move past her flabbergasted revelation.

"Our kingdoms," She started, crinkling her nose in thought, "They are different."

"You know that already."

"I just didn't realize some of the... traditions were still so barbaric." She shuddered at the thought of someone storming the castle. It held such a peace for her, the place she spent many of her evenings, unwinding from the demands of her own royal duties. It seemed like freedom to her, being with Bog. But for that peace to be shattered in a move that was just EXPECTED of this place...

"Oh, and your lands are so much more progressive?" He scoffed, turning towards the exit and stalking away.

"Well..." Marianne followed paces behind him, giving her own mocking chuckle, "Yeah!"

"At least my people aren't split right down the middle." They stomped toward the throne room.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Marianne demanded.

"Your privileged fairies live well beyond the others living in your field," His voice was dark and rough, as if meant to grate across her senses, "I've seen your homes and parties, remember? Always separate. Not hard to see where the wealth of your land goes."

She was struck silent, if only momentarily, at the fresh perspective he suddenly represented.

"If you're talking about the elves, they've always lived in their own village. They have no wings, they can't be comfortable as high up as we live. This is the way that works best for everyone," she defended as they entered the throne room. Bog reached the steps to his throne and stopped to face her again, a cold look in his clear blue eyes.

"Spoken from a fairy's mouth."

She clenched her fists, growing annoyed, "If the elves took issue with it, they would have said something..."

"Do you give them counsel? Do elves hold any seat in your court? They serve in your armies only under the fairies. And if your father is any clue as to the direction of those relations, I'd say regard for elves and their views is quite low."

"Are you serious?" She turned inward, stepping towards him with a knot in her chest, "I can't believe I'm taking this from a king killer."

His eyes widened then and the plates on his shoulders raised as his clawed fist clamped hard around his staff. Marianne's hand went reflexively to her hilt, ready to unsheathe her sword. It was an awkward feeling, standing at odds with the man she had just been making light, laughing conversation with while they shared a meal. She had gotten use to these nights, the unwinding intimacy, the comfort.

Part of her felt that this change of pace was inevitable. A little voice in the back of her head was letting out a breath as if long-held predictions had just come to fruition. Of course their lands were too different, their own separate worlds. Of course it would be a problem!

But then, like a cleansing rain, Bog let out a sigh, the tension in his body leaving. He leaned on his staff for a moment with a small droop and frown. He ascended the last steps and fell to his throne, holding his staff in front of him with both hands.

"I would change it," He said almost too quiet to hear, but with an acute pain that made Marianne rid all defenses from her mind. She dropped her hand from her weapon and unfurled her wings, pushing off of the ground to slowly float to the throne on which her dejected lover sat.

"If I could, I would change it," he repeated.

"I... I know," she spoke just as softly as she landed, folding her hands in front of her. She really did know. The information had taken her by surprise just for the reason that she did not believe it to be in his nature.

"I was so angry," He explained, sinking forward until his forehead almost touched the cold hard pole of his staff, "I just wanted... Something of my own. And he was a corrupt ruler, decreeing the forest by his every whim. Chaos... Still."

He took one long hand off of his weapon and examined it before closing it into a tight fist, "Had my youthful fervor not preceded any good sense, I may have come up with a better plan than to snuff him out."

"Young and impetuous, Plum called you," Marianne smirked in understanding.

He looked up at her cautiously, "All the same, I don't regret taking the throne."

She nodded low, not knowing how to voice her assessment that he was surely made for his position.

His cautious look turned to one of bashful longing, a soft and unsure side of him that always made her heart flutter ever so delightfully. She made a small happy sound and moved in front of him, grabbing the staff and hefting it up. With a relieved smile, Bog helped her set it beside the throne. She walked into him, positioning herself between his long legs, and snaked her arms around his neck. He sunk forward gladly, pressing his forehead to her chest and letting out a long breath. She caressed his neck and head until she could feel him relax and melt into her like sap.

Just let it go, she told herself, reveling in the trust and comfort and forgiveness. What did any of that other stuff matter when she had this.

And yet still, the sick feeling that sunk the pit of her stomach when she replayed his thoughts on her kingdom told her she just had to know...

"About the elves..." she whispered, "Is that really what you see?"

He tensed for a moment, but then looked up at her, his chin scraping against the smooth surface of her clothing, "Your people have your own way, passed down from generation to generation. It's your normal."

"But that doesn't make it right," She said and her own words sent a chill through her. Oh no, had she always just given in to what was expected? Why had she never questioned these traditions before.

"Your... Friend, Sunny," Bog snarled at the thought of the petulant young man, but then corrected his demeanor, "He was born into the elf culture, and yet he loves a fairy. That can't be the only breach of your kingdom's lines, can it?"

Marianne gaped at him, her mind too alive and loud to form any coherent input. She had honestly not thought of these things. Sunny seemed like such an anomaly. She always just accepted everyone's place in her mind. Even now, though she had pioneered her own journey of the unexpected and unconventional. She had never asked or fretted over the troubles of the individuals living in the land of her birthright, only for the kingdom and the land itself.

If her people were unhappy, how was she to know?

 

Her mind flashed to her sister suddenly, weeks back. Their father had continued with his attitude towards her and Sunny, becoming more brazen in his words instead of gentler. Marianne always shrugged it off. She loved her dad to the point she could just laugh off his deeply ingrained prejudices.

Dawn, however, had ended the day bawling. Not her normal crying, either, but uncontrollably hopeless waterworks. Marianne did her best to console her, saying it didn't matter. Telling her to ignore Dad, he was all talk.

"It's not him," Dawn gushed, wiping ineffectively at her eyes, "I don't care about his words, but...there will never be a place for Sunny and I..."

She dissolved into sobs until she fell asleep in her sister's arms. Marianne dismissed her passion as senseless drama. Her sister was a romantic, of course drama came with the territory.

Looking back now, she had been trying to make a heartbreaking point. As enlightened and accepting as Marianne had hoped she was, perhaps it was Dawn alone who truly knew the scope and damage of the segregation of their beloved Kingdom.

 

"Bog," She spoke his name with trepid resolution, "I was so caught up with the borders of my land and the relations with the forest and finding a way to...well, bring the worlds together...ish. Yet I don't even know..."

"If your own Kingdom is united," He finished for her and she nodded with a painful swallow. Bog wrapped his arms around her, fingers trailing gently up her back and hugged her to him, studying her face in a way that made her feel as if he could see into the heart of who she was and how she felt and thought. His beautiful blue eyes could see her, for better or worse, laid bare in all her fury and fear and pride. It wracked at her nerves, being so known without anything to hide behind. And yet all she saw reflected in those probing eyes was love.

"Do you think I should do something about it?" She asked not breaking eye contact.

"You're asking a King who still hits his subjects with a staff," He smirked and she laughed, "Do YOU think you should?"

She pursed her lips and raised a brow thoughtfully, "I really don't know how to approach any of this..."

"You will, tough girl," He assured her with a squeeze, "And once you do, you'll turn that place over on its head."

"I dunno about all that..." She laughed, rolling her eyes to the side.

"But you can. Never forget that you can."

She looked back down at those eyes and knew how hopelessly lost in love she was. And yet, here again was her temporarily misplaced confidence and a new fire burst to life within her core.

"You're trying to charm me, aren't you?" She brought her hands up to his faces, tracing the contours with her fingertips.

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"Maybe." She sunk down, one knee resting on the edge of the throne and enmeshed herself with him once more, tilting her head to the side to press her lips firmly against his. 

He gladly accepted her, a smile beneath their kiss. Quicker than usual, it began to devolve with roaming hands and overly enthusiastic tongues until he pulled her further back into the seat, leaning back and running a single nail up her leggings until she could feel the faint prick of it breaking through the cloth. She gasped and then his mouth was off hers, trailing wet, open mouthed kisses down her neck as his hand continued its journey beneath the hem of her skirt, the other on her back, keeping her to him.

"Mmm," she reveled in the attention, her body pressing forward of its own volition, a million needy thoughts running through her mind until, "Woahwoah woah... Wait a minute, time out."

His hands flew off of her and she pushed back. He looked up at her with a mix of panic and hazy passion too soon interrupted. 

"Hm," She poked his nose with a sorry smile, "It's getting late, I have to get home."

"No," His arms were around her again, pulling her close, long fingers everywhere. She chuckled, trying to pry him off to no avail.

"I'm serious, I told Dawn I would cover for her tonight and you DON'T renig on sisterly duties!"

He let out a long, agitated groan, punctuated by a lick up the center of her throat that made her shiver. The next moment, however, he reluctantly released her.

"Fly off then, little fairy."

"Don't be sour," she looked down her nose before leaning forward and planting one last kiss on the frustrated Bog King, "I'll be back tomorrow."

"An eternity away," He huskily whispered.

She stood and walked to the edge of the steps before spreading her wings and looking back at him, "Drama king."

And then she took off easily, sliding through the open skylight and into the crisp night. Below, her last look at Bog was him gazing after her, seemingly stuck to his chair. She grinned to herself as joy bubbled throughout her being and took off towards the fields.

Home, she told herself, but somehow that word was fitting less and less with the place of her birthright. She shook that thought off, only to be met with a tidal wave of others. It was a long flight made seemingly longer by thoughts of crowns, dead kings, privilege and elves. Bog, thankfully, was interwoven into each of those thoughts, making them softer and more bearable.

She closed her eyes as she broke through the tree line and made it into the fields, hit with a wave of the cool, unhindered breeze. She would figure all this out, as long as he was beside her.


	2. Chapter 2

Bog watched Marianne fly off into the inky black night until he could only imagine the fluttering of her beautiful wings against the dark backdrop. Slowly, as the impression of her presence seeped out of the room, irritability set in.

He could not help feeling like he lost something, the only good pieces of him flying off with her. He had a mantra playing through his head that she would return soon. He played it every time she left his side up until the moment she would return, at which point the memory of being without her and in need would dissolve into bliss.

Right now, though, his mantra was coupled with long suppressed memories. It was not that he forgot how he got where he was, it was simply that he had made a habit of glossing over the details of it all in his mind. It wasn't exactly pleasant to remember the details of his seizure of the highest position of power, nor the circumstances surrounding it.

He reached beside him and grabbed his staff, holding it in front of him once more. Rotating it, he found the deep gash he was looking for and dragged a claw across it thoughtfully. A testament to how hard he fought to gain the honor of rightfully wielding it.

"Such a glum face for a Marianne night."

Bog flinched at hearing his mother's cutting voice so near and instinctively shoved the staff to the side of the throne, "Mother, how long were you there?"

"Don't worry," She waved her hand and walked up to the arm of his seat, "I know to give you two some space. I didn't see any arguing or necking or anything like that..."

"Mom!" 

"Oh pish, not anything I haven't seen. In fact, back in my day when I first met your father..."

"Woah woah, no! Stop." He held his hands up as if to shield himself from her words.

Griselda simply shrugged, "Well, I'm just glad you can work it all out."

Bog's eyes flitted back to his weapon automatically, a soft scowl obstructing his resolve to hide the tumult within his chest.

"Now if only you can get your head straight with all this feeling like a monster business."

"What?"

"If you would let me, I would thank you every day for what you did back then," He turned back to her and she smiled with such sincere gratitude that he had to smile back.

"You won't be bringing that back up again," He ordered and she laughed.

"Of course. Forbid it all to be known Bog became King to save his loving mother," She tossed her hands up, "You know, Marianne would understand it so much better..."

"Regardless," He cut her off, "It's not the Goblin way, it's not... normal. I don't need this Kingdom thinking I'm soft and Marianne needs to know how vicious this place can be."

"You think you're more civilized than all your subjects then?" 

Bog growled, "I don't know".

"This place isn't what it used to be," She patted his hand, "You've seen to that, son."

He held back on a rebuttal, letting his response simmer in the back of his mind. His mother's pride in him seemed so out of place. He wondered if she truly saw him for what he was or if she was too blinded by her own bias to see how horrible he truly was.

"So, when's the wedding?" She grinned.

For once, he was grateful for the awkward segue.

 

 

"Happy?"

The word was spoken with sincere curiosity. It had been a few days since the thought provoking exchange of words with Bog. It had stayed with her, but she only just began to ask questions.

"You know, content, pleased... Happy," Marianne shrugged, her hands resting on her crossed knees. Sunny sat beside her in the shade with an amused look on his face.

"We're elves," He leaned to the side and flung his hand out, "We're supposed to always be happy, right?'

"That's what my father said, but..."

"But a King won't think ill of his own work," Sunny finished for her with a shrug and look back out to the field. Dawn was out among the tall grass searching for small flowers giddily.

"What's the truth of it, though?" Marianne asked, and also turned to watch her younger sister dip and twirl through the air before disappearing into the green with a string of flowers trailing after, "You can tell me."

"Well..." He started somewhat reluctantly, " That's a bit subjective, isn't it?"

"Alright," she conceded, "Are elves... Generally happy being in the position that they are in the kingdom?"

"More or less..."

Marianne groaned, "Sunny, it's me, I'm not going to use anything you say against you. I am asking because I want to know. If there is anything that needs changed in this kingdom, then I am the one who can do something about it."

"What about your father, though?"

"Don't worry about him," She waved him off and then paused, "You know he won't be King for..."

"Forever?" He finished quietly.

"Yes. And as future queen..." She paused, feeling a chill trill up her spine, "I want this place to be fair."

"Well you got your work cut out for you," Sunny chuckled, " Prejudice runs deep on both sides."

"How so?"

"Try not to take it to heart, but... Most elves think fairies are all airy-headed snobs that don't know how to work."

Marianne reigned in her impulse to defend herself, trying to keep his words in context, "And how do they feel about being under us."

He let out a long breath as Dawn broke through the tree line with triumphant cry, a long trail of colorful petals and buds following. "I suppose everybody just... Begrudgingly accepts it as what it's always been. It's not like we have a say in it anyway, so at least we can make the best of it."

Marianne looked over at Sunny, his face was sunk with a thoughtful frown. As Dawn approached, however, it turned into a bright and beaming smile.

"What are you guys talking about?" Dawn asked excitedly and began to wrap her garland around their little picnic area, catching it on twigs and leaves.

"Just elf stuff," Sunny shrugged and Dawn raised a brow at him.

"The elves' place in our Kingdom," Marianne clarified honestly.

Dawn's smile disappeared instantly, replaced with an angry scowl, "It's absolutely awful the way we're all kept separate... And the limitations put on elves keep so many from doing what they want... From succeeding as well as they are able! Elves are just like us, if not more hard-working because they have to be. We are born into privilege and they have to scrimp and scrounge for their comforts!"

"Dawn," Sunny held his hands up as he stood, trying to calm her, "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Dawn fluttered back down to the ground, her head dipping down sadly, "Even the idea of a fairy and an elf loving each other is laughed at. I can't accept that such hatred as that... Is normal."

Marianne watched, mouth agape as Dawn wound down from her rant and Sunny rushed to her side, holding her hands until she sunk down to her knees. He held onto her with a sad smile, stroking her shoulder and head as she sighed.

Grabbing at her chest, Marianne let her sister's and Sunny's words sink in until she could feel them touching her heart. Dawn was so passionate because she loved Sunny and, by extension, all the elves. How she had come to such a place was a journey beyond Marianne, but she imagined it went a lot like how she had come to have affection for the Goblins.

Dawn could not accept that the Elves would be forced to be in their position. Worse, that they would be openly mocked, portrayed as less. 

Marianne looked away from the couple as Sunny began to sing softly to his love and realized in that moment that she could not accept any of it as well.

She would need to do something about it. Nerves fluttering in her chest, she finished the picnic with her sister and friend, all the while planning her next moves.

 

 

It was not unusual for Marianne to use the skylight to get into the castle. In fact, it was pretty consistently her favorite means of entrance, an homage to her first visit. It was not typical, however, for her to barrel in with as much ferocious speed as when she had wanted Bog's head on a stick.

With barely any time to react, and a considerable shock that it was happening in the first place, he could only stand and raise his hands in defense as she zoomed towards him silently.

She crashed into him, knocking them both back down into the throne, "woah woah woah!"

She laughed loudly, wrapping her arms tightly around a dazed Bog. His hands were still raised and legs stiff.

"What?" He could only see purple.

"I'm happy to see you," she explained, acute humor in her tone.

"What?" His hand finally moved and legs unlocked. He looked down at the clearly insane fairy to see her buried against his chest. He allowed himself to rest his hands on her shoulders and she sat up to look him in the eye.

"I made a decision," she explained, "I'm going to fix my Kingdom."

Suddenly he could make sense of her excitement. She had been stressing over the subject for days now. No doubt a decision was a weight off of her shoulders. He wanted to ask her how she would go about uniting all the races, but something told him that just knowing that she would was enough for the night.

"That's great," He said with a reassuring smirk, wrapping his long arms around her back, " You're gonna do great..."

"I hope so," She settled herself against him once more, all softness against rough.

"You will," He promised with a hushed breath, running his fingers through her hair and over her shoulders.

“I think my first step is going to be meeting with the elf elders and...” She stopped as his hands traveled down her sides, scraping ever so gently, “heyy now...”

“Mm?” He smirked.

“This is important!” She sat up again with a small pout.

“Pardon me, then,” He said, holding his hands up, “But I am unused to having to focus on royal matters when a warm, excited fairy throws herself into my lap.”

She looked down at their unceremoniously entangled legs and grinned with a shake of her head, “You know... I expected you to be a bit more disciplined than that, Bog King.”

He simply sat back and studied her smug face with his own intense, clear eyes. She felt oddly exposed under that gaze, but she didn’t want to hide. She wanted to just let everything inside of her gush out right then and there, all of her thoughts and feeling laid out on the table so he could examine each bit in one fell swoop and just know her in every sense. She didn’t want to drag out her words and explanations, she didn’t even want to talk, she just wanted him to know her inside and out.

Oh, if only it were so simple, when she was still coming exploring who she was herself.

Ultimately, he ignored her banter, their gazes having turned warm and yearning, “Is this... One of your nights?”

He was asking about Dawn covering for her, she knew. It felt like a cog clicking into place and setting her into motion.

Instead of answering him, she leaned forward, her eyes relaxing into a half-lidded state as she positioned her lips mere centimeters from his own. It felt slow, but she moved with just decisive enough timing that she got to enjoy the slight swell of his widening blues. She would normally close her eyes at this point, but the idea struck her that she had not seen this part of their kisses for herself before.

Always yearning for new experiences with her beloved, she kept her eyes open ever so slightly and watched his hitched breath turn into a swallow, his throat bobbing delicately with the effort. She raised her hand to it, delicately stroking perhaps the softest tissue on his body in wonder of the detail. The gesture or sensation was enough, apparently, for him to close those wonderful eyes before her, his face placid yet expectant.

My, how powerful she felt in that small moment, watching his lips part ever so slightly, submissive before her.

Submissive, she thought, using her other hand to gently thumb his bottom lip, that was a new one.

Just as his brow sunk in confusion, she dove in, pressing her lips firmly to his, relishing in the feel and taste of that initial contact as he sat frozen.

The spell lasted only seconds longer and suddenly his arms were around her again, claiming her his, melting away the high of her temporary dominance into a puddle of mutual need.

All was right and well and exceptionally steamy until a frazzled Thang stumbled into the room announcing the completion of dinner, which was promptly met by the admonishing roar of an exceptionally frustrated Bog.

Somewhere in the back of both their heads, they made a note that they should really stop initiating make-outs in the throne room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Bog loves his mommy *snicker*  
>  And damn kids! A whole castle and you keep tryna get some on the throne? Tch, bloody hormonal youths...or what have you.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, yes! You made it to the end of the first chapter, let me pretend to hug you. Thank you! I half wanted to just, you know, peddle some hefty smut there at the end, but that may have distracted a bit from the story. I'll find a place for it, though, don't worry... I mean, if that's your thing and all that.  
> So yeah, there is no birthright to the Goblin throne, Bog killed the last king, there is segregation in the light fields... fun times ahead, yes?  
> Let me know what you think! I should be working right now...


End file.
